was a general festival and a grand funeral which all 

 the birds attended. 



Of course, taking the responsibility for the birds 

 can be carried too far, if the birds begin to shirk 

 responsibility themselves and expect you to look after 

 the children who desert the nest too soon, the parents 

 demanding, " Where is my wandering boy ? " every 

 time you go into the garden, instead of feeding the 

 little bawlers themselves. 



Then, too, it's a terrible responsibility to have to 

 assist in the general pandemonium when an entire 

 brood of post wrens fly the coop at once. 



There was " Spilly Willy," the post wren, and his 

 little wife, " Tildy." He came to the back porch, 

 then to the front porch, searching and begging for a 

 home, having been unexpectedly accepted by Tildy 

 the day before. We hurried and found a little 

 stunted failure of a gourd that looked about the size 

 of his necessity, broke a fine knife making a round 

 door, and mashed a favorite finger nailing it up to 

 the veranda post. Spilly Willy accepted it in three 

 hours, and he and Tildy nearly killed themselves 

 spilling over with song-joy while trying to fit four- 

 inch twigs of wood cross-ways in an inch door hole. 

 Then we found another gourd a size larger, with a 



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